“This yer’s my home, Jack,” said Brown, with a sigh, as he threw himself upon the bed, and motioned his companion to a chair.  “Her room’s t’other end of the hall.  It’s more’n six months since we’ve lived together, or met, except at meals.  It’s mighty rough papers on the head of the house, ain’t it?” he said, with a forced laugh.  “But I’m glad to see you, Jack, damn glad,” and he reached from the bed, and again shook the unresponsive hand of Jack Hamlin.

“I brought ye up here, for I didn’t want to talk in the stable; though, for the matter of that, it’s all round town.  Don’t strike a light.  We can talk here in the moonshine.  Put up your feet on that winder, and sit here beside me.  Thar’s whisky in that jug.”

Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information.  Brown of Calaveras turned his face to the wall and continued: 

“If I didn’t love the woman, Jack, I wouldn’t mind.  But it’s loving her, and seeing her, day arter day, goin’ on at this rate, and no one to put down the brake; that’s what gits me!  But I’m glad to see ye, Jack, damn glad.”

In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung his companion’s hand again.  He would have detained it, but Jack slipped it into the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, listlessly, “How long has this been going on?”

“Ever since she came here; ever since the day she walked into the Magnolia.  I was a fool then; Jack, I’m a fool now; but I didn’t know how much I loved her till then.  And she hasn’t been the same woman since.

“But that ain’t all, Jack; and it’s what I wanted to see you about, and I’m glad you’ve come.  It ain’t that she doesn’t love me any more; it ain’t that she fools with every chap that comes along, for, perhaps, I staked her love and lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia; and, perhaps, foolin’ is nateral to some women, and thar ain’t no great harm done, ’cept to the fools.  But, Jack, I think—­I think she loves somebody else.  Don’t move, Jack; don’t move; if your pistol hurts ye, take it off.

“It’s been more’n six months now that she’s seemed unhappy and lonesome, and kinder nervous and scared-like.  And sometimes I’ve ketched her lookin’ at me sort of timid and pitying.  And she writes to somebody.  And for the last week she’s been gathering her own things—­trinkets, and furbelows, and jew’lry—­and, Jack, I think she’s goin’ off.  I could stand all but that.  To have her steal away like a thief—­” He put his face downward to the pillow, and for a few moments there was no sound but the ticking of a clock on the mantel.  Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and moved to the open window.  The moon no longer shone into the room, and the bed and its occupant were in shadow.  “What shall I do, Jack?” said the voice from the darkness.

The answer came promptly and clearly from the window-side:  “Spot the man, and kill him on sight.”

“But, Jack?”

“He’s took the risk!”